How to Lose a $1,399 Sale

Today we went shopping for a burr-grinder.

For coffee beans – not a metal-working project.

My husband, King of Cappuccinos, has been using a basic $20 whirly-bird grinder for years. And complaining the whole time about how this unit grinds inconsistently, how it jams up the cappuccino maker, how the coffee would taste better, if only...

After spending more time in the sales funnel than any other coffee aficionado I know, he broke down and decided to buy a burr-grinder.

We headed to Linens ‘N Things. At $49.95, the Braun burr-grinder would have been a steal, had they had one.

Dejected, my husband studied the floor model. He showed me where the plastic case had cracked; undaunted, he pulled the bean bin open and studied its intricate workings. He hand-cranked the grinder, it made a sound like a toy truck driven by a toddler.

Vrrrr vrrrr vrrr...

Finally, a salesperson happened by.

“I want one of these,” Dave said.

“That’s out of stock, come back in two weeks,” came the reply.

So we headed to Kitchen Kaboodle.

Yes, they had Braun burr-grinders in stock. At $59.95, the identical unit, right down to the color, was less than a steal.

In these sluggish economic times, it doesn’t hurt to bargain.

“We found the exact same unit at Linens ‘N Things,” Dave explained. “It was $10 less. Can you honor that price?”

Yes, we were told: But only after the store manager confirmed the unit was in fact available for a lesser price elsewhere.

What followed was a 30-minute wait.

First, the store manager was on hold at the Linens ‘N Things at Jantzen Beach.

Then, she was told, they didn’t carry Braun burr-grinders.

Not true, he explained, so she called another store.

A long wait ensued. I was playing with tea tins when I saw the manager return: “It has to be the same exact unit as what we have.”

Dave pointed. “I want a black one. It was black at Linens ‘N Things. They’re the same unit.” And then he picked up the Braun burr-grinder he wanted to buy, lest she become confused by the $89.95 model.

Another interminable wait – and then she came flying down the stairs:

“They’re out of stock,” she said breathlessly.

“Yes,” Dave said in his most reasonable voice. “That’s why we’re here.”

“The only way I can honor the price is if they were in stock at a different store,” she said. “That’s because they’re a big corporation and we’re a smaller one.”

With that head-scratch of an answer, we left.

“Bogus,” Dave muttered.

Indeed. And here’s why (lest you just jumped to the moral of this story.)

When you have customers in your store, who are willing to buy your product, the idea is to sell it to them.

It is not to make them wait 30 minutes, only to be told no.

It is not to irk them so mightily that they post a blog about the ridiculous doings at Kitchen Kaboodle.

Clearly, the manager at this store is not empowered to do the right thing: In this case, the right thing is “Gee, company police says I can’t give you the discount because the item has to be in-stock at the other store. But since you waited so patiently, I’m going to give this to you for $49.95...Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

At which point I would have plunked a tin of loose-leaf tea down on the counter which – hey – cost $10.95.

What happened instead is that Kitchen Kaboodle lost a customer today, and always. There was nothing in it for us to stand in a store for 30 minutes and then be told no. Our time is worth the $10 discount we were asking for.

So is our loyalty: We would have returned to Kitchen Kaboodle the next time Dave replaces his cappuccino maker – the one he spied there cost $1,399 (yes, Dave loves his coffee! And he steams the milk for my Chai tea, so we all benefit.)

Not to put too fine a point on it (but I will anyway) – we weren’t asking for something that isn’t already a common offer made by most retailers today: “We beat our competitor’s price.” We asked for that courtesy. We were able to prove the price difference existed.

Being told no because the item was out of stock is just...stupid. Worse, it sounds like a corporate ploy designed to avoid giving the discount at all. While it’s true some folks shop on price, others will do what we did, seek out an out-of-stock item elsewhere.

More importantly, we had money for the burr-grinder today. If it had been in stock at Linens ‘N Things, we never would have gone to Kitchen Kaboodle, and given them a chance to win our business.

Our willingness to travel (especially with gas priced at $4+/gallon), to ask for a $10 discount, should have been rewarded by more than a company policy geared to saying no.

And I don’t care how big Linens ‘N Things is compared to Kitchen Kaboodle: It wasn’t worth losing a future $1,399 sale to save $10.

analagous

spilled words, like wine stains,
linger after the apology
and bleach of time fade

Leap: The Net Does Appear

In 1988, I was working as a receptionist in a dingy little office under the Ballard Bridge in Seattle. After helping a customer, he left, and came back almost immediately.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I laughed. “Nothing much.”

“What do you want to be doing?”

“I have a journalism degree. I want to write for a newspaper.”

He stared at me, and slowly pulled out his business card. “I publish a monthly newspaper – it’s about photography. Our next staff meeting is tonight.”

After that meeting, I decided to quit my dead-end job and start freelancing. I got a job working second shift at a supermarket deli; this freed up my days so I could concentrate on getting hired as a reporter.

I worked one day at the deli, came home.

Before I went to work the second day, I was called in to interview for The Enterprise, a weekly community newspaper located in Lynnwood, WA.

The next day, I was hired.

It took one leap of faith and three days to get my first job as a reporter.

My career eventually progressed into the corporate world, and I lost track of my writing self.

I quit my job in 2004. Uncertain as to what to do next, I signed up for a writers conference, opting for the fiction track.

The first class of the day was full, so I stepped into a freelance writing workshop. At the end of the hour, the instructor asked me how come I didn’t put my degree to use, and another woman handed me her business card: She was the editor of a newspaper that served my North Portland community.

It took a second leap of faith, and an overfilled classroom, to get another chance to follow my dreams.

Starting over at 38 was the same as starting out at 22: I needed fresh clips; worse, I needed to query for assignments, an art form I’d never learned.

I agreed to sell advertising for the publishers of two magazines in exchange for first pick of editorial assignments. Problem solved: In less than a year I assembled an impressive array of high-quality credits and was able to launch myself into the competitive arena of freelance writing.

And a happy ending: I still write for these great magazines today: Walk About (I'm also the managing editor now),
and Northwest Renovation (I'm also the copy editor.)

Without Ego

“So you’re a freelance writer,” Mark says to me at a recent breakfast meeting for local business owners. We are seated at the same table. I’m eating badly cooked eggs, he wisely opted for a fruit platter.

Mark owns www.flowerbud.com, an e-commerce business devoted to delivering fresh flowers to homeowners worldwide. This is the first time we’ve met, and we’re comparing notes about our respective businesses.

We’re talking about blogging, and writing in general, and how writing as a craft has degraded over the years. We agree that while the spontaneous, colorful, and sometimes ungrammatical bloggers have their place, business owners on the blog circuit should post properly written content.

From here conversation turned to editing – and he was surprised to hear me say that I don’t have an ego about my work.

Of course I take pride in what I do – I wouldn’t be writing professionally if I didn’t believe in myself – but having an ego – which I define as every word I choose is gold and every sentence I craft is platinum – does more harm than good.

“If I write something for you, and you don’t like it, then I work with you until you’re satisfied,” I said. “It’s the same as with any business – that’s customer service.

“But I don’t take it personally,” I added. “They’re just words. I can go make some more. It’s not about me or who I am.”

---------

I believe what I told Mark. A thick skin is necessary for any “creative” type, and so is a down-filled pillow for those days we land particularly hard.

But then I began to wonder:

Is it just creative types who have to balance their ego – their rock-solid belief in a job well done – against the client’s expectations and opinions?

I don’t think so.

Most sales jobs – outside sales, commission-based retail sales, even a job selling books – carry with them a daily quota of rejection. No means no, and it always means the seller goes back to square one, and needs to re-evaluate how to close the next sale.

It’s no surprise that a toddler’s favorite word is “No!” She must know, instinctively, that she’s going to hear it all through her life so she might as well shout it all she can, while she can get away with it.

Every entrepreneur has to sell something at some point. If you’re in public relations, you’re selling an idea to a busy editor. If you’re in marketing, you’re trying to out-shout the competition to reach the consumer. If you have a hot idea for a solve-all piece of hardware, you have to convince the bank before you can produce your first board.

I’ve been told the Portland area is a haven to small business owners. That’s a lot of people swimming against the current, pushing a solo idea against a wave of doubt.

Some of them don’t write well. Or draw well. Maybe their sales skills are shaky, too. But what they do have is a great idea, a belief in themselves, and their refusal to take no for an answer.

Ego plays big here, it’s why we keep slaying dragons. But if you want to succeed, learn to separate ego from your business persona. A strong ego protects you from the sting of rejection; too strong, and it will prevent you from managing a business reality.

If a printed circuit board has a flaw, that doesn’t mean you are flawed.
Likewise, a poorly turned phrase is not about me, it’s about the work I did.

If the customer is always right, that means sometimes your ego – the part that believes you did a stellar job on a project – is wrong.

In those instances, ignore your ego. It isn’t acting in your best interest. Take the hit, fix the problem, and go sit on your soft pillow.

The Consequences of Success

My mantra is, "I want that ham" -- old family story. Door prize at a Girl Scout event was a huge baked ham. I love ham, no one else did. I decided I would win it, stood in the back of the hall, rocking, chanting:

I want that ham!
I want that ham!

My mom kept trying to explain that it was a door prize and I wasn't likely to get it -- afraid of my intensity, no doubt, and that my 6-year-old heart would be broken. And of course having to serve a ham that only I would eat.

Natch, I won.

I turned to my mom and said, "I GOT that ham."

To this day, if something is within my grasp, I'll talk about wanting it, and then I'll go ahead and say those four magic words -- I want that ham.

Time has proven my mom was mostly right – I don’t get that ham nearly as often as the little girl in me thinks I should.

But it’s learning how to manage the hunger that has been the lesson for me.

If I want something, I go all out for it. If I get it, great. If I don’t, well, not-so-great. Success and failure, praise and rejection, are all part of life.

The real education comes from getting something I thought I wanted, and having it turn out to be awful – not what I desired at all.

Managing my way through the unexpected has taught me that not all opportunities – or baked hams – are created equal.

More than that, those hard-won, bad decisions have helped me understand my motivations: I’ve learned to think about what it is I want, why I think I must have it, and what will happen if I DO get it.

Identifying the consequences of success has helped me avoid taking the wrong job, moving to the wrong city, staying with the wrong man.

Experience has shown the consequences of NOT getting are acceptable: My life goes on, much as it did before I caught the scent of ham.

Learning the difference between feast or famine has helped me find the necessary middle ground. It’s where I always manage to find a snack.

Say Good-Bye to Merle

I jinxed Merle Norman.

These past few weeks I’ve been writing about my first makeover, an event so traumatic I was reduced to using Vaseline on my eyelashes to make them appear longer.

Amidst the giggles my last two postings generated, Kris popped into her hometown Merle Norman, and bought a package of cotton puffs.

When it arrived in the mail last week, I laughed. It beats paper towels (and if you don’t get the joke, please read back a few postings). The only thing funnier would have been a tube of red lipstick, so I decided to buy one and send it along.

For countless years, Merle Norman has anchored a corner slot in one of the larger malls in the Portland area.

I’ve never been inside the store, but I know exactly where it is, just like I know where the shoe department is in Nordstrom.

When I got to the lower level, I looked across an expanse of tile and saw the windows were dark. Tinted, I thought. So nobody could look in from the outside and see what horrendous doings were going on in the inside.

As I drew closer, I saw a woman in a navy wool coat, hands cupped around her cheeks, peering into the darkened window.

"I don’t blame you a bit!" was my first thought. I’d want to know what-all was going on in there before I set foot inside. In fact, I did want to know what-all was going on, so I stepped up to the window, framed my face in my hands, and gazed inside.

The store was empty. A long white counter made a U-turn into the black. Glass shelves. Carpet that looked like it hadn’t been vacuumed in days. A small placard noted that this location of Merle Norman was now closed, thank you for your business...and well, I didn’t read the rest.

I could have, but my eyes were taken away by a row of mannequin heads. They were wearing wigs. Frizzy, unreal, nothing-like-anyone-would-ever-wear, wigs. Most were blonde, or brunette. But one head was sporting an icicle blue wig, while another was capped with a magenta hairpiece so vivid it gleamed.

Their white plastic faces were bare, and I had time to wonder if these were some kind of test mannequins, where makeup trials took place. If so, someone was kind enough to wash their faces before turning the lights out.

Next to me, the woman had gone still. She probably saw the wigs too, I thought. But then she pushed back from the glass, and pulled on the locked door.

A former customer? No way! I whirled around to get a look at her face, and she appeared, well, normal. Pale skin, ordinary lip color, eyes a subdued blue.

She wandered off, and I went back to staring at the darkened shadows.

Finally, I turned to leave. I felt surprisingly sad, as if a piece of my childhood was lodged in that darkened showroom.

“I didn’t mean to jinx Merle Norman,” I thought, already penning my next email to Kris. And then I read the rest of the placard:

Catalogs available online. Please visit www.merlenorman.com.

Back for Seconds, 25 Years Later

This time it wasn’t Merle Norman. It was the Estee Lauder counter at a large department store. Right up front I’ll say – mea culpa – the makeup artist asked permission every time she wanted to try something new. Good customer service doesn’t always mean you’ll be satisfied with what you get – as consumers we also have to take responsibility for our actions.

Since I started working from home, I haven’t worn makeup, not much anyway, for the past two years. Lipgloss. Mascara. Pencil in my crooked brow. But I have Roseacea and it left me with a fine spray of broken capillaries on my nose, chin, and cheekbones.

I’ve picked up a few corporate clients, so my natural look had to be updated. I wanted the red spots toned down. Smoothed out. And damn those fine lines anyway!

What follows is an email I sent to my still-best-friend Kris.

Hie'd me over to Estee Lauder, where I used to get my goodies years ago.

We settled on a nice powder, a pretty blush (surprise – I’m a straight neutral, I always thought I was winter) and she asked if I wanted some lipstick.

Ahem.

She used a lip liner and crayoned in my entire lip line. The parts I don't touch, because it looks like I’ve carelessly colored outside the line. There is my lip, the line, and a fairly thick ridge I leave be. She didn't.

I chose a deep burgundy lip color, darker than the one I normally wear. I already knew it would look good with my dark hair. She chose a red lip liner.

ka-POW. I looked in the mirror, and went, “Uh, uh, uh,” and she caroled, “Oh it’s fantastic! Want some gloss?”

Why not, I thought. Bad is bad, why not go to gross? I was re-living my Merle moment, and I had to run with it.

So she slathered on clear lip gloss. I looked like I had a tub of Vaseline, just thick goo, across my lips. I looked like I'd had a collagen treatment. My lips looked like a skating rink over a volcano.

I thought of you, and giggled.

"You have perfect lips!" she sang.

And then she suggested I walk around the mall: “See how you like it,” she said.

I thought of us, looking for a bathroom. I asked for a tissue instead -- turning 40 MUST have some bennies. I daubed the worst of it off, and hie'd myself out of the store to confer between me, myself, and I, and my Visa. It’s a purchase I shouldn’t afford, but then looking good, (sans lipstick) is important.

So I toted my twin gorillas through the mall. I did get double takes. I'm not sure it was complimentary. I stared at myself for a long time in every mirror I passed. I liked everything but the lipstick, and it wasn’t coming off without a chemical wash.

In the end I traded my credit card for some product – had her throw in a tube of line concealer. That’s really what I wanted in the first place.

Oh Merle! Makeovers and Customer Service

Once upon a time, about 25 years ago, my soon-to-be best friend Kris and I went to the mall. We were 15 and in search of ourselves...or at least the perfect shade of lipstick.

We went to Merle Norman, the only place at the time willing to give free, no-holds-barred makeovers to anyone, including teenaged girls too broke to do more than lie about coming back with mom’s credit card.

I don’t remember what color palate I chose – my favorite color at the time was blue – so it’s possible I came away with blue-lined eyes and aquamarine lips, but I will never forget that Kris asked for red. A gorgeous, bold color in itself, but totally unsuited to her honey-toned skin.

When the makeup artist was done with us, it was clear we had not found ourselves, or the perfect shade of lipstick. Our combined reaction was shock, then fear, then the unspoken desire to find a bathroom – fast – and wash our faces before her mom came to pick us up.

We tried walking through the mall at a decorous pace, hoping no one would notice that our two lovely (we hoped) selves were made up like clowns: Our faces were lathered in foundation, with pressed powder dusted halfway down our necks. Our cheeks were bronzed and blushed, and our eyes, eyelashes and eyebrows were weighted with thick powder, mascara and brow liner.

Teenaged girls want to be noticed, but only for the right reasons. After the second or third incredulous stare, we abandoned all pretense and made for the bathroom at a dead run. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, our faces looked gaudy – my mother’s phrase would have been “two-bit hookers.” Mindless of the sore pimples on our foreheads, we smacked harsh soap on our faces and scrubbed our eyes and cheeks raw with coarse paper towels.

At the end, Kris and I were red-faced in more ways than one.

Business lesson?

Never make your customer look like a fool. Needless to say Kris and I never returned to Merle Norman, even when we, as business professionals, had the resources and the desire to look polished. To this day, the mention of Merle Norman leaves us in giggles. We remember the botched makeover as a bonding moment, but not the company as a place to shop. By contrast, our next foray was Contempo Casuals, where we deliberately tried on ugly dresses, just to see which one of us could outdo the other. That store didn’t throw us out; in fact they invited us to return.

Don’t judge your customers by their age or assumed resources. It might be tempting to make snap decisions when someone arrives in your store, but don’t. Sometimes I like to get dressed up to go shopping, other times I present myself in baggy sweats, a baseball hat, and worn shoes. I expect the same treatment no matter what I’m wearing.

Customers have long memories. People remember where they went, how they were treated, and if they will shop there again. A bad experience not only means you’ve lost a customer – it means they will likely tell at least three other people about what happened...like I just did.

Good customer service starts with being polite, helpful, and truthful – no matter what we are buying, we all want that perfect shade of lipstick.